


living spectre

by wolfgun



Category: Gintama
Genre: M/M, brain hurty take this, takes places after the manga ends, yeets this into the void
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:27:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27970805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfgun/pseuds/wolfgun
Summary: He wondered, briefly, if anyone still thought about it, about the little things, the big things... The way things were before—if it had all been worth it—losing so much. The city can be rebuilt, the livelihoods of individuals regained, but the lives themselves…That familiar dark hair flashed into the forefront of his mind, a regretful smile and dull green eyes—Gin huffed, vigorously ruffling his already unruly hair. He could only imagine what he would think about the current Edo. Would he be relieved? Would he be happy? Would he be angry that everyone continued to move on around him?[Takasugi makes a comeback, but Gintoki hates ghosts.]
Relationships: Sakata Gintoki/Takasugi Shinsuke
Comments: 3
Kudos: 35





	living spectre

It was the same old routine. Get up in the morning, wait for someone to show up with a job request while bingeing Jump, then go out at night to drink. All the while being pushed and shoved into different shenanigans by the plethora of people he couldn’t seem to get rid of—for better or for worse. (Mostly worse).

Even after the near-destruction of Edo not once but _twice_ , it still amazes Gin how the buildings rose again seemingly overnight, the rubble and dust brushed away in the blink of an eye, how the cracks were quickly filled and painted over. Looking at the city now, almost 3 years later, it’s hard to think about how much of this town was turned upside-down. And how, almost 3 years ago, he broke all the promises he ever made.

He sighed heavily, shuffling down the street and glancing haphazardly around at the stalls. It was empty days like this that got to him—days where he couldn’t think about anything else but the blood on his hands. And now night had fallen, and with the way his heart weighed down his body he needed something to lift his spirits a little.

“Ah, Gin!” Came the greeting as he ducked into the next bar stall—the owner was a friendly, stout woman named Mirako. “You’re looking pretty worse for wear. What’ll it be today?”

“Don’t I always?” He took a minute to browse the different booze behind the counter, but quickly found he didn’t really care what he had—as long as it was cheap and strong. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he stated such to Mirako, who gave a bark of laughter as she whisked a dark bottle off the shelf with one hand and took a glass in the other, giving a heavy pour.

“Come on, Gin,” Mirako was saying, “There’s only peace and love left in Edo, yet you still look as if your ghosts are haunting you.” 

“...They might as well be,” he mumbled, half to himself. The woman just shook her head, soft curls bouncing against her cheek. She slid the glass over to him, and the pungent smell hit him like a brick. Gazing down into it, he found it was dark but somewhat translucent. It seemed to shimmer in the low light, a faint but deep indigo. He grimaced, but not unkindly.

“What’s this?”

“Oh, just some new stuff that came in from the west. It’s got a bit of a different feel to it than sake, so give it a whirl—on the house.” He swirled the cup around for a few seconds, still just staring—then, with a half-hearted shrug and no threat to his wallet, he downed the glass in one go.

“Well, you can’t really taste it when you do it like that.” As Mirako swiped the empty glass and poured another, Gin exhaled deeply, the alcohol burning warmly down his throat and into his gut. It tasted bitter-sweet, and even though he usually preferred teeth-rotting sugary things he found he didn’t hate it.

Gin watched the strange liquid flow, Mirako beaming expectantly as she placed the glass back in front of him. He took the second one slower this time, letting it roll over his tongue and slide down at its own pace. It was definitely bitter upon first taste, then seemed to change as it travelled—it was rich and complex, hiding notes of some fruit he was certain he’s never tasted before.

Its depth almost reminded him of something Tatsuma would bring to them, in the downtime during the war. Not only were weapons a hot commodity—but sustenance as well of course, drink (booze) being no exception. They would mostly buy cheap beer and sake by the barrel, but occasionally Tatsuma would show up with a sample from some other trade company and crack open the bottle with them.

This… this tasted like something from another world. 

He could almost hear the banter of his friends as they poured equal amounts to start, bringing the drink up to their lips and bottoms up on the count of three. Zura would almost immediately fall asleep, Tatsuma would just laugh in that way he did but ten times more obnoxious, and Takasugi—

“...Where’d you even get this?” he asked, shaking his head and turning the glass around again and again. He wasn’t exactly sure if it was the mystery of the drink that was causing him to be particularly nostalgic tonight, or the alcohol itself that was already going to his head. Probably both.

“An old, long-time customer recommended it to me. Good, isn’t it?” Mirako shot him a smug smile, one that Gin could only return crookedly. 

“Yeah. Yeah,” Gin suddenly felt an urge to get up and go somewhere, “It’s really good.”

{--+--}

He sighed to himself, eyes gradually being drawn back to the dark blue bottle in hand. Mirako had gifted it to him, saying something like, “Think of it as thanks—for saving the world all those times, or for just being a regular at the bar, a good person to talk to. Whichever one floats your fancy.”

So now, he was trudging back along the street, the sky completely dark, with a half-empty bottle in his hand and absolutely no one to share it with.

And no one that he _wanted_ to.

He wasn’t entirely sure where he was headed, nor what he was going to do. The urge that hit him in the bar was still there, like an itch he needed to scratch but one he couldn’t reach. It was beginning to drive him nuts.

He wandered aimlessly for a while, glancing around at the neon lights adorning the buildings, noting the corners that had been redone and the signs that no longer had the scratch he had been used to. 3 years was a long time, but Gin still found himself stuck in the past.

He wondered, briefly, if anyone still thought about it, about the little things, the big things... The way things were before—if it had all been worth it—losing so much. The city can be rebuilt, the livelihoods of individuals regained, but the lives themselves… 

That familiar dark hair flashed into the forefront of his mind, a regretful smile and dull green eyes—Gin huffed, vigorously ruffling his already unruly hair. He could only imagine what _he_ would think about the current Edo. Would he be relieved? Would he be happy? Would he be angry that everyone continued to move on around him?

Gin trudged on, head down, walking and walking, willing his thoughts to turn to something else, anything else—the contents of the dark bottle swishing in his free hand like the sea before a storm. Restless.

It was no surprise when he found his feet had carried him back home, head spinning in all the wrong ways—not even close to drunk. Gin unceremoniously face-planted onto his futon, not even bothering to pull up the covers.

The dark bottle laid next to him, glinting in the moonlight and not far from his fingertips.

{--+--}

When he woke the next day, it was with an ache in his entire body that wasn’t physical and to a chorus of bangs on his door. He tried to ignore the incessant noise, but after a couple minutes of being unable to drown it out, Gin grumbled a few curses and stumbled to his feet.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” He mussed his hair in an attempt to shake out the bedhead, and plodded heavily to the door. “Jeez, don’t you people know not to wake someone who had the night shift?”

The lock clicked as he turned it, and he slid the door open to reveal a familiar, long-haired man. He immediately slammed the door shut, but not before the man’s sandal and hand got caught between the threshold.

“Gintoki!” came the pained shout, “Gintoki! It’s Katsura! Don’t you recognize me!?” But Gin just kept trying to slam the door shut, pissed that it was _Zura_ of all people that woke him.

“I don’t know you!” Gin yelled, resorting to kick at Zura’s hand and foot.

“Gintoki! This is important!”

“Not important enough for you to wake me up!”

“—I brought you some pudding!”

The door suddenly opened, sending Zura flying forward onto his face. Sure enough, a grocery bag of pudding tumbled inside.

“Ah, Zura it’s you. Why didn’t you just say so?” Gin picked up the bag and turned back into the house, knowing Zura would follow. He sat down on one of the beat-up couches, immediately opening a pudding and digging in. Zura joined him on the other couch across, folding his arms over his chest and wearing that same serious expression. They sat in silence, Zura no doubt waiting for Gin to ask, Gin stubbornly spooning the slightly warm pudding into his mouth. Finally, Zura cleared his throat loudly.

“Gintoki. I’m sure you’re aware that the anniversary of—“ Gin’s head snapped up, “—the Battle for Earth is tomorrow.” Zura stopped, then, closing his eyes and nodding to himself. When he didn’t continue, Gin sighed.

“...And?” He chewed around the spoon in his mouth.

“And… what are your plans?”

“My _plans_? For tomorrow?” Gin could only stare at Zura suspiciously; he only asked that kind of question if he was plotting something. “Zura, just get straight to the point.”

“It’s _Katsura,_ ” Zura shot back immediately, unperturbed by Gin’s obvious annoyance, “and I just wanted to know if you were going to sit at home and get drunk or go to a bar and get drunk.”

“... You sure have faith in me, don’t you?” Gin tossed the empty pudding container somewhere behind him, starting in on the next one. 

“It’s easy to have faith when results are consistent,” Zura replied, calm and matter-of-fact. Gin frowned, brows knitting together, glaring into his half-eaten pudding. 

“Look, I don’t know. What happens, happens—I’ll figure it out tomorrow. Now let me eat my pudding in peace.” Zura just shook his head.

“Gintoki.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, Gin sat back, trying to direct as many irritated vibes to Zura as he could. Unphased, Zura seemed to take it as a sign that he had Gin’s undivided attention, and dove on. “I’m sure you knew that we had been searching for—“

“I _don’t_ want to hear about it,” Gin growled, the force he stood up with rattling the table, sending the pudding cup toppling over, spoon-heavy. He tsked softly as the spoon rattled across the table, glowering at Zura. “My sleep, and now my pudding.” 

Silence stretched between them, the two now engaged in a weird stand-off. Gintoki stared down at Zura as he sat there, eyes closed and chin tucked, seemingly deep in thought. He sure hoped his negative vibes were reaching Planet Zura.

“Leader and Shinpachi are gone, so I was going to offer you my company—“

“Who’d want your company!?” Gin took the chance to escape, stomping into his room. “I’m going back to sleep! I’m going to sleep through tomorrow too, so don’t bother!” Like a moody teenager, he slammed the door shut behind him and flopped onto his futon.

It’s true that Kagura and Shinpachi were both out; Kagura had taken Sadaharu to Planet Fitness to get some exercise, since according to her he’s gained too much weight, while Shinpachi was on a trip with his sister. But Gin was an _adult_ —if anything, it was those two that needed _him_. It was just life as usual.

He heard Zura’s light footsteps across the floor, retreating back to the entrance. A small pause, no doubt putting his shoes back on, and then the door sliding gently open.

“Gintoki. You know where to find me.”

The door clicked softly shut, and then again, silence. But instead of a kind of peace, he found it felt more like a yawning abyss.

Gin deflated, burying his face into his pillow. For some reason, his throat and eyes burned something awful.

{--+--}

He gasped awake, an uncomfortable sheen of sweat covering his brow and coating his body. Scarlet light bathed the room in an eerie glow, meaning he had slept through the entire day. Gin didn’t remember falling asleep, but he sure as hell remembered his dream—his mind had chosen to torment him with the past yet again—of all the times his friend’s blades cut into his flesh, and of all the times his own blade tore into theirs.

He turned over, and directly in front of him laid that dark blue bottle, the light causing it to shine purple. There was only one thing he could think of to do—so before he convinced himself otherwise, before something appeared that could persuade him into something else, he rose from the futon. Bottle in hand, it was less than a minute before he was out the door, wooden sword on his hip and a single destination in mind.

{--+--}

The full moon was high in the sky by the time he reached it—his childhood home, the source of his greatest happiness and greatest pain. Shōka Sonjuku.

He didn’t know exactly why he had come here, on this day, just that the closer he had gotten the lighter he felt. And now that he stood here, he let himself be taken by his memories. The tree that once stood to his right had been his favorite tree to lounge in—he could spy on the entrance of the school and hear the voices from the classroom, yet the foliage had been thick enough so that he wasn’t easily seen. All that remained now was a blackened stump, though a thin branch protruded from it as if trying to prove something—however, Gin was never one for that poetic bullshit. Three tiny leaves hung in the air, the stillness of the night giving the illusion it was suspended between life and death.

Rotting wood cracked underfoot as he stepped forward, moving over what had once been the threshold. Inside here had been the hallway, where Shouyou would greet them. To the right was the practice room. He headed there now, tracing his younger self’s steps over the singed floor, and stopped at the entrance. The scene popped into his head so easily—the image of his former friends, wooden swords lifted high, faces round with youth. As he continued, he could just imagine the way Zura would turn, chiding him about his punctuality as he yawned, and Takasugi would just ignore him, only glancing over when he thought Gin wasn’t looking. Then Shouyou would appear, smacking him on the head like he had always done, admonishing even as he smiled warmly.

The memory faded, replaced by the present darkness of night. Gin let out the breath he didn’t realize he had been holding, and glanced around. All that remained were charred walls and rotten wood, the skeleton of what had been. Even he was now a shell of his former self—he wondered, not for the first time, why everything bad was so _easy_ and everything good was so _hard_. There was surely some philosophical shit to go along with that, but Gin had done enough in his life, and the rhetoric remained blissfully unanswered.

He meandered around, and when there was nothing else left to reminisce, only a bitter taste in his mouth, he found himself in front of the three graves.

One of them belonging to Oboro, the middle belonging to Shouyou, and then finally… one belonging to Takasugi. He paid his respects to each of them in turn, sighing heavily as he made it to the last headstone.

“Well,” he rasped, sitting down in front of the stone and placing two small glasses in front of him, “I told you before that we needed to have a drink together sometime. Sorry I’m so late.” With a tiny squeak and hollow pop, he removed the cork from the dark bottle and began to pour; just like before, it shimmered lowly, seemingly glowing in the moonlight. He brought one of the glasses up to his lips and tilted his head back. This time, all he could taste was the bitterness.

Once he set his own glass down, he reached for the other, “It’s just alcohol tonight. Don’t have anything else.” He made to pour it out in front of the tombstone, wondering if Takasugi would even like this weird alien alcohol.

A rustling brought him out of his reverie, and he paused, immediately on guard. There had been no wind. A cloud passed over the moon, engulfing his surroundings in darkness—he carefully placed the drink down and then stood, turning calmly to inspect the source of the noise. About 20 feet away from him, leaning around a half-collapsed column, was a humanoid figure.

“I do hope you don’t plan on just wasting that on the ground,” came a familiar, deep voice, and Gin’s fingers twitched over the hilt of his sword in surprise. The cloud advanced, revealing his old friend in a brand of silvery light. He was still small in stature—but his face held no stress, no fatigue of his former life. It was as if the gods threw the Takasugi that Gin had last seen into a washing machine, and then he magically popped out with no scars, both eyes, and his life restored. But that’s impossible.

Gin broke into a cold sweat. This is impossible. He abruptly sat down facing the tombstone, trying to ignore the ghost of his former friend and failing miserably—chanting over and over to himself that this had been a bad idea. He quickly poured himself another drink. God, of course he had to come to the resting place of not one, but 3 different people with strong ties to him—at night, a full moon in the sky—of course, of course—

It was in the middle of this panic that Gin saw a hand reaching from behind him, pale and unmarred—it took all his willpower not to bolt. “T-T-Takasugi? Look, you know I wasn’t the one who killed you, right?” The hand grabbed the drink right out of Gin’s grip, and his eyes unwillingly followed to watch the spectre down the purple liquid. A drop trickled out from the corner of his mouth, running down the edge of his jaw. Takasugi’s adams apple bobbed to swallow.

“I see you haven’t changed,” Takasugi—well, this… this _thing_ that looked like him—said. When Gin looked up, he found a jarring pair of emerald green eyes boring into him. The cup was placed back into Gin’s frozen hand. They didn’t move.

After a while, Takasugi finally snapped, smacking the white-haired samurai on the head. “The least you could say is ‘hello’ you know!”

“You… you hit me.” It wasn’t phrased as a question, just a statement. Gin sucked in a breath, rubbing the spot with his free hand.  
  
“Yeah I hit you, dumbass! The hell d’you expect after—”

He stopped short as Gin rose, locking him in a tight hug. Takasugi stiffened from the sudden embrace, unable to stop a grunt of surprise from escaping him. “Ginto—”

Gin started patting him down, then, first his back, then his arms, then his head and face. He even went so far as to try and inspect his right eye, Takasugi swatting his probing hands away. 

“What the fuck are you even doing?”

“.... So, you’re not a ghost,” came Gin’s explanation, which made Takasugi bristle.

“Of course I’m not a ghost! Didn’t Zura tell you anything—”

“Huh? What about? Are you a demon, then—”

“He didn’t explain to you that I had been reborn and was living in a village in the countryside, and that when he found me all my memories came back and—”

“Reborn? Living? _Memories?_ —”

“Holy shit.” Takasugi took a step back, taking a deep breath. After this brief pause, he sat down in front of Gintoki, picking up the bottle and pouring the alcohol into Gintoki’s still frozen cup. “For now, let’s drink.”

So Gintoki filled Takasugi’s cup in turn, and did just that. The moon was floating just above the treeline when they finally finished the bottle, and only then did one of them speak again.

“... Does this mean you’re the new Altana vessel?” Gintoki was leaning back on his palms, eyes cast to the sky. The stars were twinkling faintly.

“Not quite.” Takasugi shifted, and Gin glanced down lazily to watch him take the last of the liquor and pour it out to both Oboro and Shouyou. “We destroyed him… you destroyed him all those years ago. I don’t know why I was reborn an infant… but in only 2 years, I’ve grown to the same age I was back then.”

“That’s kinda fucked, isn’t it?” Takasugi snickered, that familiar high, tinkling laugh. Gintoki tilted his head and regarded him; he was whole. This wasn’t a Takasugi who was on the verge of insanity, endeavored by his demons to run himself and anybody that got in his way into the ground. This was a Takasugi who had recouped that abandoned part of his soul. It was really fucking weird.

“The townspeople were absolutely horrified,” he said with a curve of his lip, “it took me 2 months to pass infancy, and then later on I spent only 6 months as a teenager.”

“...they didn’t think it was weird?”

“Of course they did.” His tone grew more serious, but it didn’t hold any baggage. He spoke lightly, as one would speak of a period of bad weather. With no dark under-eye bags and no permanent frown, it was hard to believe the same person was speaking to him. “But I was spit out from a shrine, so it’s not like they thought I was a demon.” Gintoki hummed at this, finally tearing his gaze away to look back at the sky.

“What about now?” Takasugi’s head swung, brows furrowed in question. Gintoki continued, “what about your ageing now? Will you just go through a midlife crisis in 1 year and then turn old and die?”

“No,” he shook his head, full-on smiling. Gintoki’s heart nearly stopped when Takasugi fixed him with that expression. “I’ve been this way for a good 3 months now, and unlike before the priests have said the Altana energy is now completely out of my system.”

“So…. so, you—”

“So,” Takasugi interrupted, eyes glittering, “I can fuck up your life again.”

**Author's Note:**

> ouch owwie my eyeballs. it is late and i have a major presentation tomorrow. fuck yeah take this *throws this fic at u like its candy and ur a very very aggressive seagull*
> 
> might write a chapter 2 and have them living together. *gintoki voice* domesticu violensu


End file.
